


So Close

by Emachinescat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e03 The Wicked Day, Gen, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 'The Wicked Day'. Merlin had been closer to his destiny than he had ever been and it had blown up in his face. How can he pretend everything will be alright after destroying everything he's ever worked for? 4x03</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Close

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own; for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Merlin found it hard to believe that he was here, in Arthur's chambers, not working or serving – but eating. Sitting across from his master – his  _friend_ , Arthur had said it himself! – at Arthur's dining table, picking at a hastily made breakfast that Arthur had insisted he share. He was dining with the  _king_. Merlin's head was spinning.

He was conflicted; in trying to save Uther's life, he had killed the king, something he had never once attempted to do, had even  _thought_  of doing, despite his obvious motivation to do so. All Merlin had wanted to do with this situation was to show Arthur that not all magic was evil. And he had been so,  _so_  close! He had had Arthur's word that Camelot would change when the prince became king, that those with magic would not be scorned and hunted. He would have been free; could have told Arthur the truth about who he really was. His destiny would have fallen into place.

He scooped up a spoonful of porridge, watching in fascination as the little brown lumps spilled over the sides of the spoon and dribbled back into the bowl. He thought about taking a bite but one look at Arthur's untouched meal – despite the prince's claim that he was starving – Merlin turned the spoon over and allowed the thick, steaming mush to plop back into the bowl untouched. Arthur's head was turned away from the table, toward the window, so Merlin couldn't see the expression on his face. If he could have, he knew it would be something akin to the look on his own face.

Guilt.

Merlin hoped that  _his_  guilt wasn't too terribly palpable, though, because  _Merlin_  had no reason to be guilty. Dragoon the Great, on the other hand, well… that was a whole other story.

Merlin's heart ached as he thought, once again, about how close he'd been to his destiny. Uther was alive, Arthur ready to accept magic. Except that Uther had died, Arthur had turned completely  _against_ magic, ruling it "pure evil", and that destiny had slipped right out of Merlin's fingers. Again. He massaged his temples. This hurt more than hearing Arthur thank him for showing him the truth about the evils of magic after the confrontation with Morgause. Arthur had been willing to change the law, to truly accept magic, but Merlin had ruined that when he had killed Uther.

No. He hadn't killed the king; Gaius was right, he couldn't keep blaming himself. It was Morgana, and probably Agravaine as well.  _They_ were the ones that had put the pendant around Uther's neck.  _They_  were the cause of his death.

 _But I should have noticed,_  Merlin found himself arguing.  _Should have felt that the magic wasn't right, should have sensed the evil magic around him. How am I supposed to protect Arthur if I can't sense a magical threat strong enough to take a man's life?_  He had failed Uther, but more importantly, he had failed Arthur. What if he did so again?

"Merlin?"

Merlin stared at his food for a few long seconds before finally looking up at the new king, eyes haunted. How long he had waited for this day; the day when Arthur would become king and yet he felt no joy, only guilt and depression. He had worked so hard to protect Uther so that Arthur wouldn't turn against magic because he lost his father to it, and he had done the very thing – however inadvertently – that he had spent the last four years of his life trying to prevent. Arthur's father had been taken away from him by magic, and Arthur was never going to trust magic again. Never trust  _Merlin_  again, not really. And that hurt the warlock more than anything else.

"Yes, Sire?"

Arthur opened his mouth like he was going to speak but changed his mind, shaking his head. "Nothing," he lied.

Brows furrowed, Merlin said, "You can tell me, Sire. You can—" he broke off. He had just been about to tell Arthur that "you can trust me". He couldn't bring himself to say it; he swallowed heavily at stared at design in the wood near his bowl.

"Just – thank you."

Merlin pretended that his eyes weren't burning with unshed tears. He managed to choke out, "For what, Sire?"

Arthur hesitated, clearly new at this "friends" business. "For… for being there for me. I… I know you can't've been the greatest admirer of my father; I mean, he nearly executed you several times, as well as Gaius, and, well…" He trailed off.

Merlin found his voice after several long moments and said, "Please don't thank me, Arthur."

"Why not? I told you, Merlin, you are a loyal friend and that should merit thanks."

Merlin shook his head. "No, it doesn't." He hastily scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffed, then met Arthur's eyes that were swirling with a great mix of emotions – sadness, confusion, guilt, pain. He forced a smile – because that was something he was an expert at; pretending to be alright – and commented, "It'll all turn out in the end, Arthur. It always does."

Arthur gave him a small smile of appreciation and went back to looking out the window from his seat, this time his countenance a bit more relaxed. Merlin, too, slumped in his seat, grateful to have been able to tell Arthur all wasn't lost.

He just wished he could believe his own words.

He had been  _so close_  and there might not be another chance.

No. He couldn't think like that. He needed to believe that there was still hope for his destiny, for Arthur, and for Albion. He would believe it because he would believe in Arthur. He would  _always_  believe in Arthur.


End file.
